Crystal River current., 1887-03-12
THE DEATH OF BOOTH.

Lincoln, is from George Alfred Town.
sends novel. "Katy of Catoctin ~
At the suggestion of John Brown his
example, and he remembered the man.
nerism in which old Brown had met
his fate. and Booth tried to be his pu-
pill.
Captain" said Booth, assuming a
hollow. theatrical voice, s.give me a
living chance; withdraw your men one
hundred PAGES from the barn, and I'll
come out and fight your'
This had been John Browns request,
when entrapped in his engine house,
and Booth aspired to die like Brown.
He repeated the request. and thought
1t quite unmercful that he was not ac-
corded q little stage space to die effec-
lively in.
"We'n waste no more time," the civil
officer, without, spoke in a tone of dis
gust.
The katydid or cricket never ceased
to call its resounding beads, and ..pray,
pray. pray"
Booth searched the heavens and the
world for some intercessor, and fetched
from weakness his mothers name By
that saint he asked for fifty yards and
for a little more time.
Everything was refused.
''Now, then, my brave boys" he de-
manded. in the tones of the stage again,
prepare IL stretcher for me!''
''Stretchers'' were the canvas bers to
carry out of battle wounded men. Booth
assuming to the end-would appear to
be veteran entitled to the honors of
war;
He raised his carbine, feebly resolv-
ing to kill some one, or to fire it off, at
least, and, as he stepped, on foot and
crutch, toward the center of the barn,
to be fatherest from mems aiming, q
friction match was scratched behind
h m, as il his broken bones had rasped
each other, and sent n cold chill up his
spine.
He turned, and saw the barn on fire!
lighted wisp of straw, twisted by
some one without, had fallen into the
loose hay, and some brush, piled
against the outside of the barn, was
also afire. The warm flame for a sim
gle instant carried the odor and crackle
of his fathers log cabin to his heart,
and he shouted, as his crutch fell from
under his arm and left him helpless:
Captain, do it quickP Now shoot
me through the heart!'
The cricket ceased to sing, though
everything beside came forth in the
bright light, till what had been the
throne of gloom stood revealed in the
blessed implements and yield of hus-
bandry. and there were wasps flying
around their nests in the roof, seeming
flame. and in the litter of the floor ran
rats in single file, all slyly, as from a
lad =
crossed his shadow like an old witch in
an incantatlon scene.
The plow and harrow-teeth took a
ruddy CLEAN; some swallows III the
timbers flew round and round, blinded
by the fire, and the pegs for tobacco
and the burning tobacco leaves grew
to be ferns and scallops of gold, as
they hung like gilded scenes in specta-
cles. around the desperate man.
He had seen fires upon the stage and
helped to stamp them out, and he limp
ed toward the greater flame near cor
ner; but suddenly great tongue of
fire licked him and singed him as if
Cerberus at hells door had fondled on
him with furnace-tongue.
Fear seized him, and he ran toward
the door on misfitting boncs-the door
held open as by some invisible angel
and. as he ran, the pondrous beams
and trees in the structure seemed to fall
upon his skull and smash it like an
egg.
Booth next felt water in his face, and
two men were hold ng him up and
searching his body and putting their fin
gers in his brain,
''Its here" said one, fright where
lie shot the president, behind the ear
and on the same side, and here it's come
through!'
In gagging torments he discerned be-
fore him two men in Confederate dress,
all shown by the light of the burning
barn, which was reflected in the home-
stead porch he lay upon.
he-betray--mep' he sighed,
pointing to one of these the officer who
had brought him to the house.
He did not hear the answer, but he
made it himself:
TELL mother-I-thought did
-rights-a-country-
Kill me! Kill me!
Herold, tied to the tree in the little fiat
lawn, saw them turn to Booth, to make
him comfortable, and heard him gasp
and groan. and Herold shed the only
tears.
Booth could not swallow, and his
WOAuS WcEo McaSuEcu l1Kc QeW In the
huneysuckle's cup that drooped above
his eyes and opened to the fire.
He saw them, in his paralysis, hold
up the arsenal of things he had carried
SO long-a great fierce knife, with the
rust of blood upon it; two pistols. with
revolving cylinders thick as his riven
ankle, and loaded in every chamber; a
seven-shotted carbine; a candle-spotted
pocket compass; his diary full Of pro-
testatons and despair. and holding
Light Pittson's name; his pipe and
scarf-pin, and the likenesses of ladies;
and little Catholic medal. He sighed:
'Tonguer'
The detective opened his mouth and
said:
Booth. no blood is on your tongue"
He started at his name, which seemed